


this is how i show my love

by Lizzen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Competence Kink, Dark Queen Rey, F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: It’s the state dinner with the Grand Moffs, top investors, and the most favored of the arms dealers; a hundred of them. All here to rub elbows, hear gossip, make deals, be assured new contracts; a yearly event.But this is the first time it’s been held with aqueenpresent.A more-serious version of a moment fromstrike a pose. And with significantly more kissing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for my beloved fickle_obsessions and many thanks to th_esaurus

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 _It’s now or never_ , she thinks, as they stand in front of a closed door.

Rey takes a steadying breath and as she moves, her dress makes a soft tinkling noise from the hundreds of diamonds sewn into it; a couturier’s dream. “Are you ready?” she asks quietly.

When he doesn’t reply, she considers if _she_ ’s ready. And the answer is no, no, a thousand times no. She assumes there’s training for this; training that Kylo must have experienced as a child. Training she could have received if she asked for a crash course. But no, here she is, a live wire with a singular focus:

Terrify them. Enthrall them. Make them adore her, adore him.

With courage, she sets her mouth, and lifts her finger. Through the Force, she presses the control for the door to open and--

 _Oh_ , she thinks as sights and sounds overwhelm.

\--behind the open door is a crowd of men and women and aliens in their finest, waiting eagerly to see them.

 _(no, no; to see_ her _)_

She doesn’t smile, not yet -- there is power in an imperious expression with these people. These are the Grand Moffs, top investors, and the most favored of the arms dealers; a hundred of them, plus the General at the back of the room with a horrible grin on his face. All here to rub elbows, hear gossip, make deals, be assured new contracts; a yearly event.

But this is the first time it’s been held with a queen present.

She breathes in and keeps her chin high.

A protocol droid, gleaming silver, stands at the doorway and makes the announcement:

“KYLO REN, THE SUPREME LEADER OF THE FIRST ORDER, MASTER OF THE KNIGHTS OF REN, DEVASTATOR OF THE REBELLION, HE WHO WEARS THE DEATHGIVER, HARBINGER OF VICTORY, PROTECTOR OF THE GALAXY.” There is a pause before: “REY, FIRST OF HER NAME, GLORIANA, OUR NEW QUEEN.”

She can feel the crowd sigh as one, sucking in the air and absorbing the visual of them in their matching crimson and black. She can feel their longing, deeply rooted and toxic; an ache to touch the stars, be seen, and have greatness in their miserable lives.

Curious, Rey reaches out and catches a glimpse of Kylo’s mind; sees him ripping through this crowd with his saber until nothing was left. A petulant sort of thought and she masks a smile. Takes his hand and takes a few steps forward.

When he says _nothing_ , she opens herself fully to the Force and snaps her fingers. Something crackles in the air and every eye in the room is focused on her. Rey opens her mouth: “Thank you for your service. We welcome you to our table.” And she takes a deep breath before: “Long live the First Order.”

A space of silence and then the room echoes with the stamping of feet and a joyous echo of her words.

*  
She leaves Kylo with the man who designed his TIE silencer, and takes a careful walk through the crowd. An attendant puts a glass of sparkling liquor in her hands, and she tosses the whole thing back. Allows the sensation of alcohol and adrenaline to mingle before steadying herself completely. This, this is all completely out of her understanding but the Force is her teacher. If she listens, truly listens, she will know what is expected and can alter, adjust, adapt.

Each greeting begins with a kiss of her hand -- and so many of the aliens, she can sense, find the act unappealing but humanoid protocol is preferred between these four walls. And then the small talk launches. Rey gives vague and non-answers to one question before asking one herself: “And what do _you_ do for the Order?” She listens and reinforces her memory with the Force so she won’t forget a face, won’t forget a name, won’t forget what they said.

And there are no smiles, not yet. She’s saving them up.

The General finds her once she reaches the back of the room and leans in close. “There are five contracts available and seven interested. Would you like me to handle it?”

She lifts her eyes to look at him carefully. “Which are the two you would deny?” she says, and turns her gaze to the crowd. He identifies them.

“Ah,” she says. “The two we deny will work for the Rebels. Choose wisely.”

His eyes narrow and she feels the waves of his conflict; she’s almost won him over. “To hear is to obey,” he says softly and leaves her side. She wonders if he still calls her “the Problem” to his staff or if he opens his mouth and the words “her majesty” fall out.

Making her way to the front of the room, she finds the Grand Moff Teins at her elbow. She listens and soon realizes that he never got this close to Snoke, _never_ , and being so intimate with her now means something, something weak about her. She bristles with this, and too much as Kylo immediately appears in her vision. Staring at her and she can hear him: _Let me_ , he’s saying to her. _Let me._

She shakes her head. And focuses her eyes on the Moff, and that’s when she smiles for the first time.

*  
When they are sat at the massive table, there’s an open place to her right as Grand Moff Teins, the highest ranking of the attendees, was assigned to sit next to her. “I believe he found himself indisposed,” an aide tells her and the chairs creak as seating arrangements adjust.

“Shame,” she murmurs, and gestures that the wine should be poured.

It takes the attendants several minutes to do so with a hundred thirsty guests, and she spends that time getting to know the Bothan to her left and the Mandalorian to her right. Both are shrewd businessmen who are not exactly tongue tied next to her but she can feel their respect when she opens herself to the Force, senses the tenor of their thoughts.

Her gaze drifts to Kylo, sitting across from her with two women to his left and right; a Grand Moff and an arms dealer. He is half listening to them, she can tell; his focus is on her, listening to her heartbeat.

She blushes, realizing this, and her heart thuds. He stares at her now and she imagines the room empty, imagines that it’s only him and her between these walls. A comfort, and he seems to relax.

Still: “--I thought Mandalore aligned itself with the Rebels,” she says, having an ear to the conversation. “A curious decision.” And as she senses the shame billowing out of her seated partner, she touches his arm. “But you had nothing to do with that.”

“I would destroy the planet from orbit if you would command me, ma’am,” he breathes out.

She looks at him, steadily, and she believes him. Believes he would fall on her saber if she told him to. Such a short time to win such loyalty, and something in her skin prickles with the shock and awe of it. She opens her mouth and says: “No. But I thank you all the same.”

*  
Following nine courses, each more extravagant than the last, there is a dessert of meringues and lemon creme; refreshing and delightful. Rey is not quite steady, having had generous pours of wine and the thrill of never seeing so much food in her life before. Her head spins. Something powerful is stirring in her belly, a longing for violence.

And something freeing inside of her allows her to say: “Tell me the rumors you hear about me.” And she layers in an unspoken demand through the Force.

“The General tells us you’re a nobody, a scavenger from Jakku,” the Mandalorian says easily and without guile. “That you’re a thorn in his side. We assume this means you are unconventional.” He says the last word very slowly before: “You are a warrior, fearsome and terrible. Not quite a Sith, not ever a Jedi; but a Force user of great power.”

The Bothan leans back, and makes a funny sort of expression that she can’t read, before: “The rumor that has the most merit, your majesty, is that _you_ are what tames _him_.” And he makes a casual gesture with his head towards Kylo. “And we find that most interesting of all.”

As the words slip into her mind for her careful consideration, she distracts them with: “And no one calls me beautiful?”

Both shift uneasily and immediately and _effusively_ recall stunning epitaphs of her famed beauty, known throughout the galaxy. They go on for quite some time.

 _what tames him_ echoes in her heart and she looks at Kylo, lost in conversation, and ponders this. Raises her hand, and the flatterers quiet. “Thank you,” she says and rises to her feet.

“There should be entertainment,” she says as the rest of her guests awkwardly rise to their feet. She pulls away from the table and ignites her lightsaber, with a vicious snap hiss. Her thoughts are in a singular focus. “Beloved.”

Kylo looks up and stares at her, curious, and she sees again his vision of cutting through the crowd. She shakes her head and gestures for him to come to her.

What happens next: his lips curl up into the most maddening smile, and his saber ignites. Despite the tailoring of his finery, he is able to leap in a somersault over the table to be at her side. _Impetuous, overdramatic, wild--_ she thinks before battering him with her saber with one hand holding her dress so her feet can move unhindered.

They dance like this for a few minutes; a block, a parry, a series of blows. Nothing like their fights of old; she’s not fighting him to stop him, to end him. She’s fighting to impress. And to impress upon an important point: neither of them are _tame_.

Heat in her blood, she’s realized how done she is with this dinner, this farce, this diplomatic requirement when the galaxy is _theirs_. How much she wants Kylo alone, wants to tear her dress off and press her skin against his. She roars out in her pent up frustration and he trips over his own feet, destabilized by the force of her feeling. With the might of her strength, she slams him against the wall, causing a nearby collection of caf cups to shatter. His saber is over his head, with her beam pressed against his. She pushes in and kisses him there, there in front of all their guests. A dirty sort of kiss that claims him, makes him whimper a little against her. “Yes,” she thinks, feeling good for the first time all evening.

Pulling away, she turns off her lightsaber, and carefully puts it back into her belt. The Supreme Leader stays where she put him, pressed against a wall and breathing hard.

She turns to her distinguished guests. And the Bothan raises his glass, smacks his hand on the table twice. “LONG LIVE OUR QUEEN!” he says. And the echoes fill the room.

 

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, this entire chapter is just smut. Also while this is related to Strike a Pose, it’s not 100% aligned with it, fyi.

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They barely make it to the turbolift. A protocol droid is racing down the hall after them, almost at their heels, but Rey slams the door shut, cutting him and his bleating phrases off. She leans heavily against the lit wall, away from the door, and she breathes in unsteadily. Her desire is so great.

Kylo raises his hand in the air, and the turbolift, rising to their quarters, shudders and shrieks a little as the Force halts its movement. Trapping them.

Flying high on the feeling and the wine in her system, her eyes flutter close for a moment and she opens herself up to him. Sees what he sees, feels what he feels. Her hands fist from the passion of it. He wants to consume her, utterly, and in moments.

As if she’d let him.

She is still, lets him come to her, lets him open the conversation, as it were, with a searing kiss. She sees him think about having her, here, against the wall. Brief and magnificent; a sudden resolution to their mutual drive.

But he’s mistaken, she thinks, and brutally drags him down to the floor.

“You’re a fool if you think this will be quick,” she says and he softens instantly, a full submission to her. With the aid of the Force, she makes quick work of his trousers, gets her hands on him. His eyes roll back at her touch, the connection charged. She squeezes him a little too tight and he moans out. “You can have what you want, but you can’t come,” she warns.

Her dress is enormous, but she adjusts as best she can. His hands wander, and find her wet. She’s groaning out now, desperate for him. And when she sinks down on top of him, it’s the sweetest kind of relief. Finally, to be like this. After all that nonsense, to be filled up with him. She opens her mind, fully, to share her own pleasure before she juts her hips once, twice, and then begins to ride him.

“You’re going to have to go slower,” he begs and she speeds up, roughly fucking him into the floor. His dick so hard against her, hitting her most sensitive spot so deep within her. She begins gasping out, so totally overwhelmed by her own feeling and the nearly untenable ache inside of him. “I can’t.”

“You can,” she says forcefully and he bites his lip so hard, groaning out in pain as he keeps himself from spilling inside of her.

And just as she’s on the verge, just as she feels her own climax begin, she pulls away, pulls off, and pants hard. Her dress is splayed out around her and she slumps over on her back, her face planted against the dress’ diamond decorations; the sharp little presses against her cheek are invigorating as she tries to right her dizzy thoughts. Keep herself from coming just thinking about him, craving her.

He’s still beneath her, gasping himself, and his hands are in little fists, knuckles so white.

“That,” she says into the air. “Was just the beginning.”

And she raises her hand, breaks his Force hold on the turbolift. It begins to rise again, screeching petulantly a little as it resumes its course. She gets to her feet, smoothes her dress, and stretches her arms. Kylo is still splayed out on the floor.

The door opens and she walks out with a straightened back, heads to her side of the room, and listens to him scramble to his feet before the turbolift door shuts.

There’s a deep sort of relief radiating through her; no more politics for the evening and perhaps through the next day if she’s lucky. Keep him with her; sparring when they’re not sleeping. Her lips curl up into a smile. As if they’ll do much of either activity, really. Not when--

“Keep up,” she snaps playfully, and sees him falling over himself to get out of his get up; the beautiful bespoke finery made with care and attention to detail. She admires him for a moment, finding him handsome and ridiculous all in the same moment. Her sex clenches a little, reminding her of what she wants, and she hides a sigh as best she can.

His eyes flick open, staring at her, and his own sigh is very palpable. She sees the wheels turning behind those dark eyes and she wonders what he’ll say when he opens his mouth.

“You were perfect. You are perfect,” he says and she’s in his arms sooner than she’d like. Sooner than she anticipated. He lifts her up in his arms and carries her all too quick to the bed. “I want to thank you,” he says and lays her on her back.

“No,” she says, not ready--

And he fights through layers and layers of skirts to get to the heat between her, gets his fingers against her wetness first before diving in closer to get his mouth on her.

She’s not one to admit it, but there’s a fissure of weakness in her; a softness for him that shakes her whole being. In spite of her will, Rey is coming immediately against his tongue and teeth; lost in the whiteness of a blinding orgasm. And he’s not even got his fingers in her yet. Her cheek burns and she moves violently to get him off her, and grabs him by the shoulder when she can. His mouth is wet, his lips are smiling, he’s a monster and she hates him.

So it’s utterly electric when she kisses him, crashing her lips against his and opening her mouth at once to deepen the kiss. She can’t breathe steadily but it doesn’t matter; he’s hers and she’s his. “I am tired,” she says against his lips, “of wearing this. Help me.”

But it takes her several minutes to stop kissing him; her hands touching him everywhere and her tongue insatiable for the taste of his mouth.

He pulls away, punchdrunk and dazed, and is absolutely useless as she gets to her feet, works on dismantling the dress so she can step out of it. “Help,” she echoes, and he sits there, watching her. The crease in his pants bulging. She projects as loudly as she can the image of her getting to her knees, pulling his dick out and taking the whole thing in her mouth. That wakes him up.

With his hands on her again, searching for zippers and clips and buttons, he’s not much help. Still, they manage and her dress pools finally to the floor; not quite whole with the rips and tears from the recent exertion.

She smiles. Naked as they come, but her head is still full of pins.

“I’ll be a minute,” she teases and walks towards the refresher. She senses his whimper before she hears it and with the roll of her eyes, she gestures for him to follow.

There’s a stool in front of a mirror, the usual place she sits to have her hair done and undone by stylists. No stylist tonight, though, it’s all on her to rid herself of what feels like hundreds of pins.

“Sit,” she orders the Supreme Leader of the galaxy, and he does, facing her. She straddles him, her legs wrapped tight around him. His sex is pressed so hard against hers. With a steady hand, she begins to remove her pins.

His arms wrap around her waist, holding her close, and his breathing is ragged. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers and kisses what skin he can. “There are easier ways to do this,” he says, lifting a hand and pulling five pins out of her hair through the Force; it’s so fast that her scalp throbs in pain. She jerks her hips mercilessly against him and he groans out.

“Maybe I like the slower way,” she says and continues.

To be fair, she herself is being driven crazy. The smell and heat of him, the press of his dick against her; his heightened senses matched with her own. It’s almost too much and there are still so many pins.

Keeping her torso so still with a gripping hand, he dares something cruel: through the Force, he nudges at her clit. Nothing too strong, but it’s a sensation similar to a tongue rolling against her sensitive skin. He’s never done this before, and she can sense his curiosity along with mischief. And the moment she moans out, he doubles his efforts.

“This is not--” she attempts and then gasps out again. The Force binds everything together, brings balance; and through the Force, she’s losing her mind.

There are probably ten pins left in her hair when she gives up, gives in, and writhes in his arms. “Don’t let up,” she says, distantly amused that his face is so tight with concentration. He’s working hard, she thinks, and lets herself go to the sensation. And just before she comes, he presses a kiss to the curve of her breast.

He senses her desire before she speaks the word and easily gathers her up in his arms tighter and gets to his feet, her body twined with his. In moments, she’s got her back against the bed and his hands are jerking her legs apart as he pushes in. His fingers reach her first and she slams her head against the bedclothes when he slides in, slick and deep. He lingers there in her sex, scissoring his fingers to see how truly open she is for him.

And then he starts to fuck in; two followed by three fingers. A brutal sort of pace and she’s gasping for him immediately. Sucking down air seems impossible with the relentless rhythm he reaches, and she calls out something terse and filthy. It’s a shock to him, it’s a shock to her; and suddenly he’s slipping out and he’s flipping her around on her stomach. “Come on then,” she goads him and she gets on her hands and knees; closes her eyes. His first thrust inside of her aching sex is so sharp it knocks the wind out of her.

He lingers for a moment, and she arches her back a little. Opens herself up to him fully, wanting to be filled up completely by him. He’s shattered already, she can sense it immediately. There’s nothing coherent in his thoughts; nothing orderly, nothing calm. He’s lost inside of her in every possible way. It’s perhaps the most beautiful thing she’s ever experienced.

She once thought of destroying him; this is quite different.

His body tenses and he begins to fuck her properly, his hands at her waist and his dick thrusting up and into her sex with steady even strokes. She can’t see his face, which she hates, but he’s hitting her harder and deeper than before, which is earth shattering. It’s not long before she’s coming again; the walls of her sex crashing hard against his dick and a lingering wail leaving her throat. He thrusts in harder and harder until he’s spilling into her, his grip on her hips so tight that she’ll bruise. It’s her name on his lips as he pulls out messily. She catches her breath as he adjusts them both so that she’s on her side, her back to his front and wrapped up too tight in his arms.

“I want to fuck you again,” he says weakly and she laughs and laughs. Pats his hand, covering her heart, very gently. “I want you,” he whispers almost petulantly before burying his face in her neck. Breathing her in slowly.

She sees him do it in his mind before he does it himself; snake a hand down to her well fucked sex, and run his fingers gently against her clit. There’s something no-shaped on her lips, unvoiced, because she allows it.

A sleepiness overcomes her, encircled by him fully and experiencing the sweetest kind of pressure between her legs. His mouth at her neck occasionally kisses her skin and his other hand finds her breast, plays gently at her nipple. The sensations build on each other, layers and layers of pleasure and warmth, and she is surprised by the occurrence, the simplicity, and the length of a lingering orgasm.

That’s when she does something she never does when in her right mind. That’s when the name “Ben” slips out of her mouth into the room.

She feels him shiver all around her, and there’s something so disquieting about it that she shifts, adjusts so that she’s facing him.

“Don’t leave me,” he says suddenly, with the fear of someone quite younger.

She runs her fingers along his forehead, cups his chin. He looks wrecked, lost. So she kisses him, a slow steady press of her lips against his. “I’m your queen,” she says resolutely. Waits until he nods in agreement. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

*  
There’s a communique from the General in the morning. “Your little show proved to increase the war coffers by 47%,” the recorded hologram says. “That is significantly more than under Snoke, ma’am. The Grand Moffs were more than impressed. And we confirmed a number of contracts, including all seven interested parties. None of our esteemed guests will be supplying the rebels now.” He straightens to his full height. “The First Order owes you a debt. Thank you, your majesty.” His voice is quite steady, honest-sounding. “Long live the Queen.”

Rey smiles.

 

**THE END**

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End file.
